


Accidentally On Purpose

by LadyGlinda



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Sibling Incest, Smut, Texting, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-09 17:23:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18642646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/pseuds/LadyGlinda
Summary: After Sherrinford, the brothers have hardly had any contact. But then Sherlock texts Mycroft - more or less.





	1. Texting

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [【中文翻译】Accidentally On Purpose](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20087158) by [kniehT](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kniehT/pseuds/kniehT)



> Just a quick drabble to break my writer's block! Not much new under the sun but I hope a few of you will still enjoy.

_You've got a case? I'm bored… SH_

_You never take care of my cases… And I don't have anything for you right now anyway. MH_

_Oh. Wrong number. SH_

_Why am I not surprised? But your friend Greg Lestrade doesn’t have a case for you either I’m afraid. MH_

_And of course you know that, Mr Control-Freak… SH_

_I am merely keeping my eyes open, little brother. Wider than ever… MH_

_It wasn't your fault, you know that, right? SH_

_We both know it was but it is kind of you to say that. When will you visit her next? MH_

_Don't know. The response is a bit… poor. SH_

_I'm sorry, Sherlock. I know you have tried hard. MH_

_And you probably didn't like it. SH_

_I'm a big boy. I can deal with my brother bonding with my sister. But I don't have very fond memories of that particular day a month ago. MH_

_Neither do I. But I thought I could help her. Was probably stupid… SH_

_Not stupid at all. But we have to accept we cannot save everybody. MH_

_Well said. SH_

_I have to go now, the Prime Minister is waiting. Have a good day. MH_

_And you. As much as the goldfish let you. SH_

_They are a menace but I can manage. MH_

_That almost sounded like poetry. SH_

_I'm doing my best. MH_

_No doubt about it. Laters. SH_

*****

_Hey, you have some rotten eyeballs? SH_

_I'm sorry to have to inform you that my eyes are still perfectly fine, little brother. MH_

_Oops. Not Molly, huh? SH_

_Not when I last checked. MH_

_Wrong anatomy? SH_

_I believe so. What about Miss Hooper anyway? MH_

_What about her? SH_

_You know what I mean… MH_

_Oh. That. Ancient history. John explained it to her and we are good. SH_

_You sounded very convincing. MH_

_I had to. She said I should! SH_

_So she did. Any interesting cases today? MH_

_No! That's why I wanted some eyeballs to experiment on them! SH_

_I would love to provide you with some. The PM's, for example… MH_

_Can only be an improvement… SH_

_Agreed. I do believe Mr Lestrade might contact you today. MH_

_Really? More than a 7? SH_

_I never truly understood your scale. MH_

_I can't explain it. Depends on the case. Most of them are boooring. SH_

_You should consider a temporary position in the government. You would appreciate your work a lot more then. MH_

_Why don't you just retire and do something else if it bores you? SH_

_I would not know how. Or what I would do. You know what they say about shifting old trees. MH_

_You are not old. And pretty damn smart. Everybody would be happy to employ you. SH_

_Flattering will get you everywhere… MH_

_Will it? SH_

_I think so. I need to run now, Sherlock, and no, not literally. I hope you will get your eyeballs and a nice, juicy case. MH_

_I read 'cake' at first. SH_

_Imagine me rolling my eyes. MH_

_Easily done. SH_

_I figure. Goodbye. MH_

_Bye, big brother. SH_

*****

_I am home. You can bring up tea and biscuits anytime now. SH_

_Your impoliteness towards your landlady is shocking. And you mis-texted again! MH_

_Damn! I should really look at the display. New phone, you know? Any chance you will send someone over with tea and ginger nuts? SH_

_Not one. MH_

_Thought so. Spoilsport. SH_

_The worst. Mummy called today by the way. MH_

_Oh, they finally lower themselves to forgive you? SH_

_Don't be so hard on them. It was a shock and they have needed some time to recover from it. MH_

_ My _ _shock was probably a lot bigger and I don't blame you. SH_

_And I appreciate that very much. I never told you how brave you were that day. Crazy but brave. MH_

_I knew she would not let me fire at myself. Well, almost knew. SH_

_And what if she had not interrupted your countdown? MH_

_Then we would not be texting today. SH_

_The thought alone makes me sick. MH_

_If that's any comfort – she wouldn’t have spared you. Neither of us would have got out of there alive… SH_

_It might surprise you but yes, it is a kind of comfort. MH_

_Because the guilt would have eaten you up? SH_

_This, and because I can't even imagine a life without you. MH_

_Drank any punch? SH_

_Only tea, little brother. MH_

_Good to know. SH_

_Thank you. For saving both of us. And John, of course. MH_

_She only thought she could play the game better than me. SH_

_True. You are the smart one. MH_

_I wouldn’t even dare pushing you from your throne. SH_

_Imagine me bowing to you. MH_

_Now that is hard to imagine! SH_

_Still I do. And I have to go now, Lady Smallwood requires my presence. MH_

_In her bedroom? SH_

_Sherlock! Well, perhaps she would be pleased. MH_

_And you? SH_

_Not in this lifetime. MH_

_Good to know. Bye for now. SH_

_Yes. Bye. Be good. MH_

_Always. SH_

*****

_John, will you ever show up here? SH_

_Oh, trouble in paradise? MH_

_Dammit, you again? And no. Just bored… SH_

_And the doctor will provide distraction? MH_

_At least someone I can tease and drive up the wall. SH_

_Not sure if I would do that with him. MH_

_These times are over, Mycroft. I have always understood why he did that. SH_

_I have not. And only your fondness of him has saved him from being taught a lesson. MH_

_And what lesson would that have been? SH_

_That nobody is allowed to injure my little brother. Be assured that if he does it again, he will not be regarded with so much indulgence again. MH_

_In short you will beat the shit out of him? SH_

_Your phrasing is awful. But yes. MH_

_I feel like a little boy who runs to his brother to complain about the bullies in school. SH_

_If you had ever gone to school, that would have probably happened… MH_

_Certainly. My private teachers refrained from hitting me. Even though they might have wanted to on one or two occasions. SH_

_One or two? You drove them crazy all the time! MH_

_Not my fault that I knew more than they did. You must have had the same problem. SH_

_True. But I listened politely to what they told me. MH_

_Of course. Always the politician, even as a boy. SH_

_And now you know why I cannot do anything else. MH_

_I'm sure you could do almost anything. SH_

_Almost? MH_

_Well, you would probably not make for a good ballet-dancer. SH_

_You might be surprised. MH_

_Oh, I would pay for seeing that, Lady Bracknell. SH_

_Yes. Acting would be an alternative, wouldn’t it? MH_

_Absolutely. In your position, you probably have to act all the time. SH_

_Very insightful. And true. I do like my occupation, Sherlock. But sometimes it is a bit tedious. MH_

_Everything is a bit (or very) tedious at times. That's life I guess. Struggling, smiling, cursing, fighting, sighing… And in the end we are all dead. SH_

_What a cheerful summary of human existence! MH_

_Who said, 'All lives end, all hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage.'? SH_

_A fool? MH_

_A very wise man. Who probably knows we have to make the best of the opportunities we get. Even when they come very unexpectedly. SH_

_So cryptic? MH_

_Not at all. SH_

_I'm not sure I'm following you. MH_

_But you should. SH_

_Damn, Sir Edwin is here. Bye, Sherlock. MH_

_Bye, brother mine. SH_

*****

_Two Pizza_ _Calabrese, por favore_ _! SH_

_You are more polite to, what was his name, Angelo? than to everybody else. MH_

_That's because he makes the best pizza in London. SH_

_You're doing it on purpose, right? MH_

_Texting you? Congratulations! Even though it took you four days to figure it out. As I have told you before: you're slipping. SH_

_But why? MH_

_The first time it was an accident, I admit it. But I had thought about contacting you several times before and perhaps it happened unconsciously on purpose even then. SH_

_You don't need an excuse to text me. MH_

_I never did. Text you, I mean. You were always… unapproachable. SH_

_I never was! I have always reached out to you! MH_

_Yes but… in a way that I couldn’t respond to in positive way. And you stopped doing it after Sherrinford. SH_

_Does that surprise you? I felt guilty and stupid and horrible for putting you through this mess. Endanger your life like this… Me, who never wanted anything more than keeping you safe. MH_

_And I will always rely on you doing that so don't disappear again. SH_

_I did not disappear. I might have wanted to give you a break from me. MH_

_Not necessary. SH_

_Strange. I could have sworn you would appreciate that very much. MH_

_Things change. Opinions change. People change. SH_

_Not so much though. People merely stay the same. MH_

_Perhaps you are right. I told you I liked your Lady Bracknell. Which was many years ago. SH_

_You did. You took it back though later on. MH_

_No I didn’t. But if it came across like this – let me reassure you I adored your Lady Bracknell. I was a boy and I adored you. SH_

_Perhaps things do change indeed. MH_

_Some things don't. And then they do and you are confused and don't know how to deal with it. SH_

_Are you talking about anything in particular? MH_

_I do. SH_

_But you won't elaborate? MH_

_I might. If you come over and share the pizzas. SH_

_You do have them? MH_

_Not yet. But I will until you arrive. SH_

_I don't know… MH_

_You are at home, right? Just arrived before we started texting? You didn’t have time for dinner. SH_

_Correct deductions. Still… It was a long day. MH_

_Well, then I will come to you and bring the pizza. SH_

_You are worrying me. Are you ill? MH_

_Not in the least. But hungry! SH_

_All right then. Come along. MH_

_Fine. See you in half an hour. SH_

_You have ordered the pizza beforehand… MH_

_Yep. SH_

_Manipulative, little brother. MH_

_But in a cute, nice way. SH_

_I can't deny that. See you then. MH_

_I expect some wine. SH_

_You shall receive it. MH_

_Good wine! SH_

_As if I had any bad wine! MH_

_Just teasing you. SH_

_I know. Don't get lost on the way. MH_

_I think I will manage. SH_


	2. Talking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys eat their pizza. And talk :)

“This wine is very decent,” Sherlock said after rolling it in his mouth like the connoisseur that he wasn't.

Mycroft smirked at his efforts and hurried to return them. “This is very edible. For pizza.” He shrugged with a sheepish smile when Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“I know, you've tried, brother mine,” Sherlock said with a smirk of his own.

Mycroft smiled at him and blushed when Sherlock smiled back so brightly that his blue-green eyes lightened up like fireworks, and he cursed himself at once for this embarrassing comparison.

He wouldn’t get up his hopes too high. They were high enough anyway if he assumed Sherlock was here to repair their brotherly bond.

He had avoided meeting him since Sherrinford and he had also hesitated to meet him tonight.

Not just because he felt deeply ashamed about the whole Eurus-disaster with his sister running around pretending to be other people as if the prison island was a boarding school one could leave anytime, not even mentioning his guilt about the people she had killed in their presence or whose deaths she had caused beforehand without him even noticing.

Not even just because of his poor performance regarding the governor's wife. He must have appeared to his brave, tough brother like the biggest weakling in history. He might have redeemed himself a bit by offering to die so John wouldn’t have to but then Sherlock had proven that indeed _he_ was the smart one…

The worst thing was that he might have given away too much in these meaningful, intense moments before Sherlock had decided to point the sodding gun at himself.

And he had almost feared Sherlock had deduced him correctly when he had sent Gregory Lestrade to be his babysitter instead of checking on him himself. He had politely told the policeman that he was fine and didn’t need any assistance, and then he had thought he had been being stupid to read anything into Sherlock's gesture – his brother had never looked after him in the end.

But now he was here after they had shared this delightful texting for days. He had come with food and friendliness.

But he wouldn’t put too much meaning into this gesture or these pleasant conversations which he had enjoyed even before finally understanding that Sherlock had not contacted the wrong person. It was just long overdue brotherly nicety. Or wasn’t it? Sherlock had made some strange innuendos over the days. His teasing about flattery… Asking what Mycroft thought about Lady Smallwood's advances… The hints about opportunities that shouldn’t be missed and that Mycroft should follow his thoughts…

And what had changed for Sherlock and was confusing him? Oh… Perhaps Miss Hooper after all? Or bloody Irene Adler?! In the end John had given away that she was still alive when they had mused over the identity of the person Eurus was referring to with this stupid 'I love you' on the coffin lid. In this situation there had been no way to talk about it but Mycroft had very well noticed.

Perhaps Sherlock had realised that he, in fact, loved her. And now he didn’t know how to break this to him! Had he asked about Lady Smallwood because _he_ had fallen for a woman, _The_ Woman, after all?

His mood fell and he wanted nothing else than to hide in his bedroom and put the blanket over his head, perhaps until not a hint of air was left...

“Brother, whatever is going on in your pretty head right now – you are totally wrong.” Sherlock said this in a completely calm voice and stuffed some more pizza into his mouth afterwards, not bothering to use his silver cutlery.

 _Pretty head?!_ Mycroft glanced at Sherlock's glass but it was still half-full.

“And I'm not drunk.”

“Would you kindly stop deducing me?” Mycroft hissed and blushed when he realised that his voice had sounded rather shrill.

“Then stop drawing wrong conclusions. _I_ didn’t.”

“And what is this supposed to mean?”

“That I know why you didn’t contact me over the past weeks except for Eurus-related stuff. Or what is the explanation for this… strange kind of energy that flew between us during her shitty game.”

“Stop it, Sherlock. Don't say it. And now excuse me, I have to go to bed.” He hardly knew what he was saying, the embarrassment overwhelming him, and he could feel his cheeks glow. What the hell had he expected? He should have been prepared for his merciless brother's cruelty after all this time…

“It's _eight-thirty_ , Mycroft. And no. I'm not leaving you alone before I've told you what you need to hear.”

“Oh, great. Just tell me how depraved I am and how wrong my feelings are…”

“What? I was about to say I know you like me as a brother.”

Mycroft paled and his fork and knife that he had stupidly held up all the time dropped from his suddenly weak fingers, hitting the table top with an awful noise, but then Sherlock snorted. “You are always falling for my tricks, aren't you? I just meant to lighten up the mood a bit…”

Now Mycroft was thoroughly confused and more than a bit shaken. “What does that mean now?!”

“That I know you are in love with me and…,” Sherlock's voice got louder when Mycroft started to hyperventilate, “that it is _fine_ because I feel the same.”

“What?! You can't mean that! Since when?!”

“Since always, I guess. At least probably for a long time. But I hadn't even suspected it until this moment in Sherrinford when you started telling me to shoot John. It was as if a bucket of feelings was exploding inside me and it confused me so much that it took me embarrassingly long to find a way out. And when you told me to shoot into your heart… I realised that this could never happen. I could never lose my big brother. And then you fumbled with your collar and I looked at your hands…”

Mycroft did the same and shrugged. “What about them?”

“They are perfect. Beautiful long fingers. And even in this horrible situation with no way out, or so it seemed, I realised I wanted to be touched by those hands.”

Had he hit his head on his way home? Had he fallen asleep over the whiskey he'd had while texting with Sherlock? Because this had to be either a very vivid dream or a hallucination that was strong enough to leave the taste of garlic in his mouth…

“I think we can eat the pizza cold a little later,” Sherlock said in a musing tone. “So let's go to your living room. Never liked these pretentious dining rooms, you?”

“What?”

“Stop pretending you're the family idiot, Mycroft. That's _my_ job.”

“You know I didn’t mean that!” Mycroft blurted. He had felt bad about saying these things afterwards, no matter how well he had meant when he had done it. Sherlock was, despite all his toughness and bravery, a sensitive man and he might deep inside believe that Mycroft had meant it after all.

“At least that woke you up from your stupor,” Sherlock mumbled and then he grabbed Mycroft's hand and pulled him up from his chair. “Come. I hope you have a comfortable couch where we can talk better. Never invited me here, did you?”

“I never thought you would come… And you _were_ here not that long ago…” Somehow it felt good to be back on better-known grounds – the snarky, bickering grounds… after these mind-blowing confessions that were whirling in his mind now, bumping against his own guilty and shameful thoughts, making him feel dizzy.

“Yeah, I know. Sorry for that,” Sherlock mumbled. “Won't happen again.”

“I wouldn’t fall for it again! Not that I did!” He almost stumbled over his own feet when Sherlock dragged him through the door.

“Of course not. You were totally in control.”

And this man who mocked him like this was still holding his hand!

Sherlock seemed to think the same because he stopped in the middle of the hallway and then Mycroft was pulled into a firm embrace that made him breathless – figuratively and literally. He stared into Sherlock's eyes (that he had always found disturbingly fascinating) and then he shuddered when Sherlock loosened the grip of his right hand to reach up and stroke over his face.

Mycroft forgot to breathe and to blink and then Sherlock bent forward quickly and kissed his lips and the ground under his feet seemed to lose its solidity.

He felt as if he had been thrown into a parallel universe. Sherlock desired him? Sherlock was kissing him? How? Why? And now… It just couldn’t be real. “Stop that, Sherlock. This is just a game, right?” He pulled away from his brother's grip and his groin that was grinding against his own.

“Yes, of course! That's why I have a hard-on! My cock comes up on cue when I just embrace anyone I totally can't stand!”

Mycroft shook his head. “But that can't be! I'm your archenemy!”

Sherlock sighed. “I guess that’s one of the reasons I felt I had to rebel against you like I rebelled against anything or anyone who tried to restrain me. I couldn’t deal with my feelings and I certainly never thought you shared them so I suppressed them and turned against you.”

“You didn’t _have_ any feelings! I wouldn’t have missed them!”

“But in fact you did. And I only recently realised I forgot them over the years. Like my memory of Eurus and Victor. But in opposite to that, they came through, at least for a while. In my dreams…”

“What dreams?”

“Indecent ones. I recall them now… I woke up with sticky pants and the disturbing memory of having dreamt about you. Eventually they stopped – and over all those troubled years I forgot them, too, until Sherrinford stirred them up again…”

“But that doesn’t mean anything, Sherlock. I was the only male adult apart from our parents and their employees that you ever met. And your teachers were probably out of the question as you despised them… more than me.”

“I never despised you, Mycroft. Don't play difficult now. You want it!”

“Yes, but not for the sake of long-forgotten, meaningless dreams and proving what has never been there.” Mycroft could hear how hopeless he sounded and his heart ached. He should have known better...

“It _was_ there and it _is_ there,” Sherlock said with conviction. “I could feel it in Sherrinford. You know what happened there. Nothing mattered in this moment but you and me.”

Mycroft would never forget this intense eye contact and how Sherlock had smiled at him so unexpectedly. “There was something, yes, but under this pressure…”

“There is no pressure _now_. And I still feel it…”

“Really?” Mycroft stared at him, unable to believe his words.

“Really, big brother.” Sherlock resumed wrapping his arms around his waist. “Any chance of getting more comfortable?”

“You mean…”

Sherlock just nodded and it was hard to miss that despite his cockiness, he was very nervous and not nearly as brave as he pretended to be. But it was also impossible to miss that he meant what he said and that he truly wanted to explore these miraculously mutual feelings.

And Mycroft finally kissed him.


	3. Making Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your support, lovelies! :)

They had foregone going into the living room. Mycroft had, after silently asking Sherlock if this was what he wanted and earning a vehement nod, guided them to his bedroom. Without removing any clothes apart from their shoes and, in Mycroft's case, his jacket, they had fallen onto the bed, lips locked, arms firmly wrapped around each other, and if there was a better feeling than kissing his little brother, Mycroft had not experienced it.

He hadn't kissed anyone for many years and Sherlock had never seriously done it, but being the geniuses that they were, they grew into it very quickly. Mycroft assumed he would never get tired of kissing those sinful lips, and while he had nothing like this to offer, Sherlock seemed to thoroughly enjoy kissing his much thinner mouth as well, both tasting like pizza and wine but underlying was Sherlock's unique taste that Mycroft found infatuating.

And of course it was Sherlock who started fumbling with his clothes after grabbing his arse firmly through his trousers and pants, making him gasp – and quickly returning the favour, moaning silently at pawing at Sherlock's plush posterior, the secret protagonist of his own indecent dreams for longer than he was willing to admit.

“No, Sherlock,” he protested half-heartedly nonetheless when Sherlock started unbuttoning his waistcoat. “It's too fast.”

“We had foreplay for four days,” Sherlock mumbled against his mouth.

“You call our texting foreplay? I had no idea that this was what it was supposed to be leading to!”

“Not my fault that you're so slow, Mr Middle-Age.”

“Thank you.”

Sherlock grinned and planted a smooch on his cheek. “Just a bit of niceness, big brother mine. You can't deny me that. Or yourself…”

Mycroft had always denied himself even _wishing_ this could really happen. Sherlock had been a beautiful, forbidden fantasy since he had been a long-limbed, big-mouthed, grumbly, depressed, bright teenager. Mycroft had felt guilty enough about feeling for him what he felt but he had always been able to console himself by thinking it was all right after all as he would never, ever try to drag this fantasy into the light and make it real.

And now it had been Sherlock who had woken it up and beaten it into reality and was determined to give Mycroft what he had never dared hope he could have. A Sherlock of thirty-six years; a broad, strong man who had gone through hell and back during basically all his adolescent- and adult life. Who was Mycroft to tell him they couldn’t have it? Sherlock was certainly aware of the risks and if not, well, they would talk about them for sure. For now they were in his secluded, bug-proof house, as safe as they could get, and so was Sherlock when he was with him, wasn't he? Mycroft would never hurt him or harm him or demand anything Sherlock didn’t want to give to him.

So he let him open his shirt and slide it from his body, watched him stare with obvious pleasure at his middle-aged body with all the hair and the flaws, and he raised his hand to put it onto the back of Sherlock's head when his brother's mouth found his left nipple and started licking and sucking it, making his pants tent obscenely, and he knew whatever Sherlock wanted from him in this night, he would gladly give it to him and to hell with guilt, fear, logic, decency and tomorrow.

*****

Sherlock didn’t know if he should sniff, lick, kiss, bite or nuzzle this wonderfully warm, hairy, delicious skin so he just did it all in quick succession and alternating, fascinatingly reducing his always composed, sophisticated big brother to a whimpering mess within mere moments.

He had been dreaming of doing this so long ago. When Mycroft's body had left the phase of chubbiness behind – not that Sherlock had ever minded his slight overweight but Mycroft had grown out quickly of it when he had become twenty, which was the time of Sherlock's sexual awakening, and he had started fantasising about nobody else than his brother from the start. Certainly the fact that he didn’t know any other young men he could have turned his attention to had added to it but Sherlock was very sure he would have never fancied some brainless, dull goldfish if he had been surrounded by them and no matter how good-looking they might have been.

There had been two people he had felt attracted to in a way – Irene Adler, in a distant, admiring way as she had been a real intellectual challenge and an awful tease, and, as little as he liked to admit it, Jim Moriarty himself. There had been a weird sort of chemistry between them and Jim had played it well but nothing would have ever come out of it as they had been standing on two completely opposite sides. Sherlock wasn’t an angel and Jim hadn't been the devil, but they had been on the respective sides of them…

Apart from these two people, he had never felt any real attraction to anyone, psychologically or otherwise, apart from his brother.

It had even started to come back before Sherrinford – right before 221B had been blown up. Their relationship had begun to heal when they had prepared his mission to dismantle Moriarty's network but with all that had happened during his long time away without ever seeing Mycroft and after his return, especially Mary and Magnussen, there had been no real opportunity to work on it. But Sherlock had, when he thought about it now, started to feel more comfortable in his brother's presence; not that this would have kept him from being nasty to him when it suited him… He recalled how he had winced inside when Mycroft had told him his loss would break his heart, knowing he was about to betray him and the country he had devoted his life to… But he had reached out to him over the past years. He had asked him to join him at the wedding! He had gone to him to help him save Mary! Because deep inside his heart he had known that he could trust Mycroft with his life. And now he had the opportunity to show his brother that he could do the same with him…

His tongue found Mycroft's navel and he swirled it around inside of it, making Mycroft pant and flinch. Sherlock looked up and they locked eyes, and he was stunned by how handsome his brother was looking. His usually perfect hair was ruffled up, sweat was pearling on his forehead, his cheeks were flushed, his lips were reddened and a bit swollen from their kissing – and damn, could his brother kiss! – and his eyes were looking dazed and beautiful with these long lashes and the  heavy eyelids, and the pupils were blown wide. Sherlock would have loved to take a picture of his face in this moment, using it as a background picture for his phone and all his laptops so he could look at it every day. And of course he knew this was out of the question as this had to remain the biggest secret either of them had ever kept. So instead he absorbed the view with his eyes and projected it at the door of his mind palace where it would welcome him every time he entered it now, and he did so many times a day and would certainly do it a lot more often from now on.

Mycroft was still wearing his trousers and Sherlock licked over the impressive bulge in them now, making his brother moan and hiss his name in a way Sherlock had never heard him say it before, and he knew he could very well get used to that.

He unzipped the black trousers and opened them rather rudely, licking a stripe over the already damp boxer briefs he had revealed, eliciting another pleasant noise from his brother. But it wasn't enough. Sherlock rummaged in the black pants until something large and pink and heavy proudly raised its wide head, and he regarded it with fascination before lapping at the engorged crown teasingly and then closed his lips around it.

*****

His baby brother was sucking his cock! The thought alone was almost enough to make his brain short-circuit but the feeling was pushing him to this point rapidly. It wasn’t the first blowjob he was getting and it was the first Sherlock was giving as he was sure. and he had been serviced technically better before – escort men did know how to do these things… But he had never felt better in this position, had never felt more aroused or more worshipped than by the one man who wasn't allowed to do it, apart from his father (and he really didn’t want to think about _him_ right now…).

And he knew if there was really a God, he would thoroughly disapprove of what was happening in his bedroom now but as far as Mycroft was concerned, he could just go to hell. They were both grown men with strong minds, completely capable of deciding what they wanted and what they did not want, and as hard to believe as it was, what Sherlock wanted right now was to give him oral pleasures. And he wouldn’t have been Sherlock Holmes if he had not managed to get better at doing it with every second that passed, reading Mycroft's moans and twitches and react accordingly to provide as much pleasure as he was able to, and it was a lot.

Knowing himself, he was aware he would be useless for a long while after reaching his climax, so eventually he urged Sherlock to change his position so he could return the favour simultaneously. But then he found it even more appealing to guide Sherlock to lower his delectable arse onto his face instead of dipping his cock into his mouth so he went to town licking his brother's virgin entrance while Sherlock resumed using him as a lollypop, and the taste and smell almost drove him crazy in the same measures as Sherlock's sucking mouth did.

His hand reached around to massage Sherlock's hot, heavy cock, and his tongue had just successfully breached him when Sherlock hissed around his member and then showered his chest and stomach with hot semen, making Mycroft follow him within seconds. Sherlock did swallow a part of his release but then pulled back, coughing, and Mycroft's remaining essence joined Sherlock's on his hairy torso, making the king of all messes as he was sure, and the thought filled him with pride (but he did make a mental note to change the linen before leaving the house the next morning as it was his housekeeper's day and he wouldn’t really want her to shake her head about him and curse him for being a pig).

He smiled when Sherlock rubbed their combined seed into his skin and then he urged him to turn around and lie down across him after quickly wiping himself clean with a tissue from the box on his nightstand. “Are you all right, little brother?”

“Not all right. I'm in heaven.” Sherlock sounded as if his tongue was a little heavy right now.

“Oh, that’s good to know. We might rather go to hell for this though…”

“Neither of us believes in either of them,” Sherlock mumbled in an unimpressed tone.

“True. No regrets?”

“None. Well, of course, actually. We could have had this _decades_ ago!” Sherlock glowered at him and it was only partly faked.

“We could have. But I don't think we would have been ready for it before. There is a time and a place for everything, little brother.”

“Hear, hear. My brother, the philosopher.”

“I'm a man of many talents.”

“I only recently told you the same.”

“You did.” Mycroft pulled him close. “Did you say this because… you want me to quit and repeat your stunt of faking your death?”

“Nah. I fell in love with the boring old string-puller in the cellar of the British government. I can as well keep him.”

Mycroft chuckled. “You make the sweetest compliments, little brother.”

Sherlock smiled and pinched his long nose. “If you decide you want this, Mycroft, I'm all ears, and as you said – I do have some experience in disappearing into the land of the not-really-dead. But for now I think we'll just focus on getting to know each other better. At least I know I want to know you inside out. And you've already made a start with that…”

“Naughty brother!”

“Totally. Remember I was a virgin until right now. Technically I still am! I have so much to learn!”

“I'm a good teacher.”

“I have no doubt. What about you?”

“Hm?”

“No regrets? Even though you never meant to make this really happen?”

“I was an idiot, Sherlock. I dreamt and fantasised and felt guilty about it. I would have never made an attempt to experience this, and I will owe you forever for making the first step. And the second, and the third…”

“You might be the smart one, Mycroft, but I'm the crazy one. And the one who always gets what he wants.”

“And you want your middle-aged, tired old brother?” Mycroft played with a stray curl on Sherlock's forehead.

“The one and only.”

“I'm so glad.”

“So am I. I don't want to leave.”

“Well, nobody said you had to! I will give you a lift back to Baker Street in the morning. Will you be missed overnight?”

“I told Mrs Hudson I'm having an observation tonight.”

“Before you came here…”

“Of course.”

“I can't live up to your cunningness.”

“You never could. Thank you, Mycroft. For giving this a try.”

“I'm very glad you texted me instead of Lestrade…”

“Me too. I might have ended up texting back and forth with _him_ and I bet he's not nearly as hung as you are…”

Mycroft laughed. “Oh, that's why you picked me? It's all about my massive cock?”

“Sure. What else?”

“You're incorrigible, little brother.”

“Well, not everything should change after all.”

Mycroft smiled and urged Sherlock to raise his head so they could kiss.

Not everything had changed indeed. Sherlock had always been the most important person in his life, and he still wanted nothing more than keeping him safe and healthy. And by having him close to him like this as often as possible he would be able to ensure it. And he would also give him everything he wanted like a good big brother did, teach him everything he knew about sexuality and learn a lot of new nice things to do in the process, and usually big brothers did not do this kind of thing but in the end neither of them was usual. They were the Holmes brothers and being different from everybody else was their natural state. And while he was kissing Sherlock he thought that being different had never felt so good.

 

 


End file.
